That I Do Not Lose You
by radialarch
Summary: John never remembers him. / Sherlock/John, angst with reincarnation. One-shot.


**Title**: That I Do Not Lose You  
><strong>Pairing<strong>: Sherlock/John  
><strong>Rating<strong>: M  
><strong>Warnings<strong>: none  
><strong>Spoilers<strong>: none for S3.  
><strong>Wordcount<strong>: 830  
><strong>Summary<strong>: John never remembers him.

**A/N**: Written for fridafrag in the winterlock exchange.

* * *

><p><strong>1.<strong>

The first time, John doesn't remember. Sherlock has to put his pipette down because his fingers are shaking, while John walks into the lab, clutching at that ridiculous cane, and meets his gaze with a polite but distant smile.

Sherlock paces, repeats his deductions from a lifetime ago; and John's eyes light up just like before, but everything feels so wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

After the meeting he pauses outside the door to stare at his hands. He thinks maybe he's supposed to be someone else.

* * *

><p><strong>2.<strong>

John doesn't remember the second time, either.

* * *

><p><strong>3.<strong>

The third time, Sherlock calls Harry John's sister, and John's mouth pulls into a bright, incredulous smile. Sherlock's heart thuds heavily against his ribs.

* * *

><p><strong>5.<strong>

_John never remembers._

Sherlock burns his way through his emergency cigarettes and pretends he's not wondering if this time, John will manage to love him.

* * *

><p><strong>7.<strong>

John takes the upstairs bedroom. John tells Sherlock to be nice to his girlfriends. John gets married.

John moves out, again and again and again, and leaves Sherlock behind.

* * *

><p><strong>11.<strong>

He lets Mycroft bully him into taking a case in Cyprus before the lease at Montague Street is up. For two weeks, he burns under the Mediterranean sun and wonders if John's found a flat with someone else.

Then he discovers John Watson in RAF Akrotiri, and Sherlock nearly bites through his tongue.

* * *

><p><strong>always:<strong>

John finds him; John leaves.

It's maddening.

* * *

><p><strong>(0.)<strong>

This time, Sherlock goes looking first. John hasn't even joined the army yet; he's in a pub with a straightened back and eyes flicking around the room.

"Medicine's boring you, I see." Sherlock slides into the seat next to John.

"Sorry?" John looks at him, startled, and he's frowning slightly but his expression's still open like Sherlock might find a way in if only he could find the right thing to say—

"Your badge." Sherlock nods at John's pocket. "Doctor, presumably just finished up a shift. Yet you're not home relaxing, you're in a pub looking for excitement in the form of a quick shag. Easy."

John's tongue flickers quick and pink over his lips. "Well," he drawls, draining his glass, "suppose I am. What about you?"

"What _about_ me?"

"A quick shag." Sherlock is transfixed by John's mouth forming around the words, his upper lip wet from the last of his drink. "You looking for that too, or will I have to go find someone else?"

"I—" Sherlock clears his throat, "you don't know anything about me."

"No," John agrees. "I don't."

"Yes, all right," Sherlock says, his mouth very dry. John's grin is brilliant.

—

They end up in John's flat. John's already discarded his shirt by the time he asks, "Sorry, what's your name?"

Sherlock pauses with his buttons half-undone. "Sher—Scott," he says, tears his gaze away from the unmarred skin of John's shoulder.

"Okay, Scott," John says easily, kicking off his trousers. He rummages through his bedside table while Sherlock's sliding off his pants and comes up with a condom and lube.

John hums appreciatively at Sherlock's cock, hard and flushed. "So, do you want to—"

"No," Sherlock blurts out. "I want you to. Fuck me." His words sound unbearably frantic, but John doesn't seem to notice.

Sherlock eases himself down on the bed – _John's_ bed – and then there's a slick finger brushing across his arse, travelling down to stretch him open. Sherlock forces himself to keep breathing, in and out, focuses on the way the sheet creases under his elbows, but when John eases in another finger his thoughts go skittering away.

"That's—that's enough," Sherlock says, voice raspy. "You can just—"

John's standing very close to him now. Sherlock rests his head on a forearm, listens to the slick sound of John rolling the condom onto himself, but it still comes as a surprise when a warm hand comes down on his back and John pushes into him, slowly, carefully.

"_Christ_," John breathes when he's fully seated.

"Come on, then," Sherlock says, trying to toss it out like a challenge. "Show me what you can do."

John fucks him methodically, his fingers digging into Sherlock's hips; and when Sherlock reaches down to stroke himself John makes a small noise and his hand is there, too, firm around Sherlock's cock, so that when Sherlock comes he's spilling over their tangled fingers.

—

After cleaning up John sinks easily into sleep, his body fitting neatly against Sherlock's, but Sherlock stays awake, cataloguing every sound John had made and the way he looks now, face softened in sleep. Then he tightens his jaw and gets out of bed.

He manages to get dressed without looking up, but when he's finished he catches sight of John starting to settle into the dip that Sherlock's body's left in the mattress. He watches for a while longer, as John mumbles something incoherently and tosses an arm out, through the space where Sherlock would have been.

Sherlock leaves. The door closes silently behind him.


End file.
